


Of Blood and Glory

by niichanberg



Category: Homestuck, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Crossover, Multi, Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niichanberg/pseuds/niichanberg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every sweep, twenty-four trolls between the ages of six and nine, two from each blood caste, are chosen to participate in a fight to the death, not only for the entertainment of the masses, but to ensure that the strength of the Alternian youth remains at its peak. Only one, the Victor, will be allowed out alive. Yet again, it's that time of the sweep: time for twenty-four new Tributes to be Reaped in the name of Alternian glory. Let the games begin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Blood and Glory

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Lovelies!
> 
> There's a couple things I want to get cleared up before I dive into the story, so that nobody gets confused ^^ First of all, for the purpose of the story, the dancestors are all alive, and are completely, 100% Alternian. Beforus? The hell is a Beforus? Exactly. Secondly, and also for the purpose of the story, none of the trolls actually know each other, except for maybe (heavy stress on the "maybe") some that are of the same blood caste and have gotten acquainted a little beforehand. Thirdly, please beware that this story will most definitely switch viewpoints constantly, although this will progressively slow the further on we get into the games (because, you know, less people alive=less viewpoints to narrate). Fourth: Yeah, there's two fuschia-bloods. Deal with it. Lastly, I would like you all to know that the winner has been pre-decided (via drawing names from a hat), as well as the orders of the deaths. However, I'm always open (er... mostly open) to death suggestions. Then again, the games won't actually start for a few chapters, but now is a good a time as any to start racking up death ideas c: Also, if you feel at any time that you have a hunch as to who the victor may be, hell, let's hear it.
> 
> Anywho, please enjoy the story and if you could tell me what you think, that'd be great! Thank you again!

**

CHAPTER ONE:  
The Luck of the Draw

**

Karkat Vantas had been awake since the late afternoon, a sickening lump having formed in his stomach about two days prior. He imagined that’s what the majority of his general station felt like when the Games were approaching. The highbloods were the only ones who didn’t have to get scared out of their damn wits, he assumed. Karkat scowled, angry at several things. He was pissed off at the Empress, and her stupid brainchild: the Games. But that was not all. He was angry at himself, too, for being so damn scared!

 

But he did have every right to be, a small part of him reasoned. Today was his first Reaping. But that wasn’t the most horrifying part. What really terrified him was that he knew that he was going to get chosen. Why? Because he was a mutant. Being so rare and all, he had a gut feeling that he probably would get Reaped, simply because the candy-bloods were so few. The odds were stacked against him. Sometimes, when there weren’t any mutants eligible for reaping, two more burgundy-bloods were reaped instead. Such was the way of things. 

 

As the two moons began their nightly chase across the sky, Karkat sat up in his recuperacoon, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to get any more sleep. He told himself that he should probably eat something before he was taken from the hive, but his body didn’t feel hungry at all and he just didn’t want to put forth the effort of moving. Not to mention that he didn’t want to risk going downstairs at all, for fear of encountering his lusus. His custodian knew as well as he did that today was the day he was sentenced to death. Karkat didn’t want to have to go through the pain of seeing his caretaker before it was actually time to say goodbye. 

 

The young troll hugged his knees to his chest, glancing at his clock. The drones had probably already been sent out to gather the planet’s eligible inhabitants. Every six-to-nine-sweep-old troll on Alternia would be gathered in one spot. Needless to say, that would be a lot of people all in one place. 

 

Karkat continued to go through the Reaping process in his mind, based on what he’d watched every past sweep, in a futile attempt to make everything seem a lot less scary. All the Reapable Alternian youths would be gathered in a huge plaza. In an orderly fashion, all of the trolls would supply a blood sample to the drones, who would then sort the youths by blood color. Those who offered even the least bit of resistance in any way, shape, or form would be immediately culled by the drones. The only part about this that Karkat was comfortable with was that, once everyone was sorted, he probably wouldn’t be too crowded. 

 

The Reaping was one of the few times when any adults would return to Alternia. Her Imperious Condescension would be present to perform the actual Reaping process, with a few other adults standing by as bodyguards (for whatever reason; Karkat couldn’t imagine anyone stupid enough to try and attack the empress with dozens of drones present, anyhow). When all the youths had been sorted (or... culled), she would draw two names from each of the twelve large bowls (eleven for each standard blood color, one for mutant-bloods). She would then present these names, and the corresponding troll would be “escorted” to the stage for all to see. Again, resistance would be met with instant culling, and another unlucky soul would take the place of the fallen. 

 

The chosen Tributes would be presented on the stage, the Condesce would give a little speech, the highblood Tributes would smile and wave, and get cheers in return, and the lowbloods would look to the ground and shuffle their feet, wishing they were anywhere else but on that stage.

 

As Karkat finally forced himself out of his recuperacoon, he tried to mentally prepare himself to be in that sort of position, because that’s where he knew he’d end up. 

 

After he had changed into some clean clothes (the cleanest outfit he could find, actually, although they were all basically the same), he heard a faint clack, clack kind of sound. It gradually grew in volume until they stopped all together. Karkat sighed. Although he wasn’t ready to say his goodbyes just then, his lusus was always one to get the ball rolling sooner rather than later. Either that, or it was closer to the drone’s arrival than Karkat had previously assumed. 

 

He opened the door to his room and, sure enough, there was his lusus, standing there in a position that only its charge would have realized was one of dismay. Karkat bit his lip and took a step towards his custodian, whose claws clicked in lieu of words. Karkat understood though, as he always had.

 

“I’ll...” He tried to think of something appropriate to say. “I’ll...miss you too.” With that, there was a pause as he pondered over what to do next. There had to be something more. After a pregnant hesitation, Karkat reached out and patted his lusus on top of its claw. “Good-” Before he could finish, his words caught in his throat, which had suddenly tightened. Damn it! What was he, some kind of wriggler? No! He was six fucking sweeps! Six-sweep-olds did not cry about being separated from their lusus! He cleared his throat to the best of his ability, stood up as straight as he could, and bid his custodian, who had raised him since pupation, farewell. “Goodbye,” he said simply, as that was all he could think of to say, even though he knew there should have been more.

 

The harsh banging sound that heralded his door being busted down ripped Karkat from his sentimental farewells. “Damn...” he murmured as he brushed past his lusus. The knot in his gut tightened. The drones had arrived to take him to the Reaping. 

 

He hurried to the top of the stairs and looked down, paling when he saw them. Yup. Drones alright. Two of them. They turned their massive heads from side to side, looking for him. Karkat shot one last look to his lusus, who was slowly shrinking backwards down the hallway. He pursed his lips, and, saying nothing more, headed down the stairs to meet the drones.

 

Once he was spotted, he was immediately secured by one, wrists cuffed behind his back by another, and promptly and roughly shoved out of his hive and into the cold, early night. He looked around briefly at the hives that were near his own. As he expected, other young trolls were being removed from their hives by similar droids (some being culled if need be), and tossed into the backs of large trucks that seemed to be used only for the purpose of rounding up and transporting Alternian youths to the Reaping. That probably wasn’t a completely incorrect hypothesis. 

 

Karkat was prodded along by the imperial drones that had taken him from his hive, escorted to one of the several large trucks, and promptly hefted up and thrown unceremoniously inside. He slid a little on his side and felt himself brush up against someone, and he was promptly shoved away. He raised himself to his knees and managed to scoot out of the way just in time to avoid breaking the fall of another victim that had been hurled into the back.

 

After about ten minutes of the back of the truck getting progressively more and more crowded as more trolls were thrown inside, a drone drew down the heavy, sliding metal door at last, leaving the young trolls in total darkness. A minute or so later, a vibration rumbled through the floor and the walls, signalling that they were about to commence the journey to the Reaping. Once they started moving, Karkat nudged his way into a corner and curled up, pulling his knees to his chest. The young Cancer spent the long, silent ride mentally preparing himself for his inevitable death. 

 

**

xxx

**

 

Sollux Captor cried out in protest at the drones’ rough handling of his close friend, Mituna, as they flung the helmeted teen harshly into the back of the transporter. As Sollux inquired if he was alright, Mituna started mumbling incoherent words mingled with profanities as the drones secured the back, blocking out all light. Although it could have been his imagination, the sunglasses-clad six-sweep-old could’ve sworn he heard a small snicker coming from another troll towards the back of their metal enclosure. Sollux silently swore to himself that if he heard one jive towards Mituna, he would start knocking heads.

 

“Hey, hey,” he repeated, whispering softly to Mituna. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

 

His friend made a sort of hissing sound in the back of his throat before responding in a much louder tone of voice. “I- I- FUCK! My head... ASSHOLES! FUCKING PIECES OF SHIT! My helmet, my helmet...” He continued to mutter to himself, and Sollux felt that that was as good of a response as he was getting. Sollux would have attempted to help Mituna with his headache, but he knew that his friend wasn’t all that okay with physical contact, even of the friendly variety.

 

Another snicker. This time, he knew it wasn’t his imagination. Outraged, he whirled around, as if he could detect the offender even in the pitch darkness. “Whoever did that can thut their fucking mouthth before I come over there and rip them a new one!” he shouted, angry at his lisp for making him sound less badass.

 

He was rewarded with a malicious, “Bring it on, lispy! I’ll kick your ass even in the dark!” There was a shifting sound, as though someone were standing, so Sollux did the same. He found the space roomier than he had anticipated. Even with his hands cuffed behind his back, he was fully prepared to beat this fucker’s head in. 

 

“Guys! Knock it off!” a soft, female voice broke through the tension. “Seriously! We shouldn’t be making any trouble for ourselves, especially not tonight!” 

 

That seemed to strike some reason into his potential opponent, as Sollux heard no protest save for some reluctant grumbling as the other sat down. Sollux sat down too, sitting close (but not too close) to Mituna. His helmeted friend was still muttering to himself. Sollux caught a few words, such as “Handcuffs” and “Fuc-Fucking cuntbags” and “Helmet”. The bespectacled teen leaned back against the cool metal wall and sighed heavily. He just wanted this all to be over so that he and Mituna could just go home and forget all about this dreadful experience.

 

That is... if they ever made it home.

 

Sollux shook his head fervently. What the fuck was he thinking? Of course they’d make it home! They weren’t getting Reaped this sweep! There was a fuckton of other yellowbloods. What were the odds of them getting chosen? Sollux did the calculating. Very little. He scowled. God, he hated the Games. 

 

The rest of the ride was spent in silence (Mituna’s muttering having died out), as each troll remained caught up in his or her own thoughts about what was to come. Sollux was mainly wound up in pitying the poor suckers who were getting Reaped that sweep, but, though he couldn’t speak for Mituna, he had a feeling that the other troll was getting quite uneasy. He would do his best to comfort him once they reached the plaza, he decided. 

 

After a period of time that Sollux hadn’t bothered to measure, the rumbling of the vehicle had ceased, heralding their arrival at the plaza at last. 

 

**

xxx

**

 

Eridan Ampora rose from his comfortable armchair in the back of the transporter as he felt the vehicle reach a halt at the plaza. As the other violet seadwellers rose around him, stretching their legs after their journey, he looked out the window and sighed. He was positive that his trip to the Reaping would have been more comfortable than the lowbloods’, particularly because of the particular vehicle they’d been transported in. Highblood privilege never ceased to agree with him. Eridan smirked in his superior fashion as the door slid open and a ramp was deployed for ease of access to the ground. He was one of the first to file down the ramp and into the plaza, drones stationed outside their ornate vestibule.

 

As this particular vehicle had been purposefully designed only to transport the violet-blooded seadwellers, there was no need for any of the lesser royalty to be harshly sorted. However, blood samples were still required, as per Reaping protocol. The violetbloods lined up neatly in a row, and as a single drone passed by them, they held out their index finger, which was pricked with a needle. The resulting blood was sucked into a device held by the drone, confirming the trolls’ identity and exact hemospectrum position. 

 

Once all of the violet seadwellers had been identified, they were led to a specific roped-off section of the massive plaza. As they were gently hustled along, Eridan took this time to observe his surroundings.

 

This being his first Reaping Day, he’d never actually visited the Reaping Plaza in person. He’d only seen the footage broadcasted over the airwaves. It was much different. He could actually feel the tension emanating from the lowest of the castes, as they were typically the ones who did not want to get Reaped. Eridan tilted his chin higher as his gaze raked over the mass of assorted lowbloods being sifted through by drones, the occasional rebel being culled and tossed to the side. His lips raised in a smirk. How unfortunate it must be to be a peasant. 

 

He had been prepared for the Reaping ever since he was a youngling. It was expected of trolls his standing, and even slightly lower, to do so. Everyone adored a highblood Victor. He almost felt a small bit of pity form for the pathetic rustbloods. They had no idea what they were getting into. Eridan snickered in excitement. He couldn’t wait to see the terrified faces of the damned landwelling lowbloods when they were Reaped. It would be quite the spectacle indeed.

 

The group of seadwellers were led to their designated spot in the plaza, a section right next to the stage. The colors of the hemospectrum alternated all the way down the sides; on one side, there were sections for the mutants (if there were any that sweep), orangebloods, jadebloods, ceruleanbloods, purplebloods, and the royal fuschiabloods, each one closer to the stage than the last. And on the other side, there were sections for the redbloods, yellowbloods, olivebloods, tealbloods, indigobloods, and violetbloods, such as himself. 

 

Across from the violetbloods’ section, the section reserved for the fuschiabloods had two trolls inside of it, he could see. One of them looked very cute, and immediately set his romantic heart aflutter. The other appeared to be more intimidating. Much more intimidating. Eridan sighed. It was a shame that the cute one was obviously going to die. The typical situation amongst the heiresses, he’d noticed over the sweeps of watching the Games, was that one almost immediately killed the other in a fit of jealous rage to assert their royal dominance. He sighed again. Such a shame, such a shame.

 

Oh well, he thought as he eyed the cuter heiress from afar. He made a point to get acquainted with her later on, Reaped or not. 

 

**

xxx

**

 

Meenah Peixes, rightful (not that it meant ‘future’) heiress to the Alternian throne, stood with her arms crossed and with a scowl marring her features as her fuschia-tinted eyes scanned the plaza. The large area was gradually filling up with trolls from all over the globe, many having been travelling for at least twelve hours to get there. Hey, Alternia was pretty big a planet. 

 

Her eyebrows raised in curiosity and slight disbelief as her eyes fell upon the section that would contain any mutant-bloods eligible that sweep. There were two, and only two. Meenah grinned. Hell yes. She couldn’t wait to tear into that gray skin and watch that ridiculously-tinted blood of theirs flow out of their corpses. It would be probably the most amusing thing she’d do, once in the arena. Or, at least one of them...

 

The heiress’s gaze narrowed as it slid to Feferi, who was looking and jumping about as if she were on drugs or something. A small, inaudible growl escaped her throat, and she tensed up. She’d known Feferi since they had pupated, and hated her guts ever since the first time she’d laid eyes on the broad. It wasn’t anything personal. It was just Meenah’s instincts telling her to kill the bitch to eliminate competition for the throne. It was a shame, too. She was actually kind of cute. Hell, if she’d had, say, violet blood, Meenah was sure they’d (maybe) have gotten along a little bit. But nope. As it stood, she couldn’t wait to off the wench.

 

After what seemed like forever, the plaza was finally filled, and Meenah had to admit, it was quite a sight to behold; every single troll on the planet between six and nine sweeps. Needless to say, it was freaking noisy. But still. Meenah had never seen that many trolls in one place in person before, but she supposed she’d have to start getting used to it, being heiress and all. 

 

Without meaning to, she accidently let herself glance at Feferi again.

 

God, she couldn’t wait to kill her.

 

**

xxx

**

 

Karkat stood in the section of the humongous plaza reserved for the mutants, covering his ears and wishing he were back at his hive. The whole process of getting there had really done a number on him, especially the blood identification part. He remembered just barely forcing himself to remain still as a drone stuck a needle in his arm, drawing blood into a little machine. He was so used to spazzing out when anyone came close to discovering his blood color, that he almost did just that. It could have gotten him culled, he reflected. From then on, he would try to be more cautious about those kinds of things.

 

What had surprised him, though, was that after he’d been separated from the mass jumble of lowbloods he’d arrived with, he found that he was not the only mutant to be eligible that year. There was another, a male like himself. 

 

A couple notable features about this particular mutant included that he wore a long sweater that blatantly displayed his blood color, and, oh yeah, he wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

 

Karkat had covered his ears a while ago to help mute the incessant babbling of this particular character, but it did little to no good. What he did gather (“social justice” this and “trigger” that aside) was his name: Kankri. This blabbermouth was going to be his partner, his potential lifeline. Karkat sighed. It wasn’t as if it mattered, anyway. He knew he was going to die, no matter what. 

 

A loud noise pierced all the others in the plaza, and all talking (even Kankri’s, thank the lord) ceased. All eyes turned to the sky as a relatively small, yet grandoise pod marked with the imperial symbol descended from the sky. It gracefully hovered just above the stage. It’s entrance opened, and a ramp slid down, connecting the small ship to the stage. From it, the Empress herself began her annual descent to the stage.

 

There was a mass amount of cheering and hailing from the crowd of young trolls, even from the lowbloods (but this was mainly to avoid culling). As Her Imperious Condescension took her place in the center of the stage, twelve large spheres in front of her (some filled to the brim with name slips, some... not), a few other adults descended from the ship as well, until they were all lined up across the stage. The Empress raised a single hand, promptly silencing the scions of her empire.

 

She made a speech, one Karkat paid little attention to. Instead, he let his eyes wander as well as his mind. He reflected on the good old days, back when he didn’t have to worry about the Reaping. Those days were great. But now...

 

Before he even knew it, the Empress’s hand was reaching into the mutant’s bowl, consisting of only two names. And despite all of his mental preparation, he still found his candy red blood running cold as she pulled out the two name slips.

 

And when his name was called, he damn near felt his heart stop, even though he had been waiting for that moment all night long.

 

**

xxx

**

 

Terezi Pyrope listened with her head bowed as the names of the mutants were called. Poor souls, she thought. If they had been of any other lowblood caste, heck, even some of the higher ones, they might not have been Reaped that night. But Fate had wrought her cruelty upon them, and there was nothing any of them could do but stand by. Poor souls, marked for death. Booing was rampant as she smelled the two walk to the stage and take their places, and no one did a damn thing about it. No one was expected to.

 

The blind girl listened with fleeting interest as the Tributes were called, two by two, caste by caste, after the mutants. Burgundy, orange, yellow, olive, jade, until finally, it was time for the tealblood Tributes to be Reaped at last.

 

When her name fell from the lips of the Empress, Terezi did nothing but walk with all the dignity she could muster out of the teals’ designated area, along with the other tealblood, Latula, who was to be her partner in the upcoming Games. The two progressed down the spacious aisle, and Terezi ascended the steps up to the stage without assistance. She barely ever needed assistance. 

 

After she and Latula had taken their place near the middle of the stage, behind the Condesce, she began to pay more attention to the names that were being drawn: Vriska and Aranea, Equius and Horuss, Gamzee and Kurloz, Eridan and Cronus, and then, the heiresses: Feferi and Meenah. Strategy had always been Terezi’s strong suit, and she knew immediately that the highbloods would more likely than not kill each other in fits of jealousy or power plays. It was something that Terezi was prepared to spectate. She knew that she would not fit into their clique, and thus would have to form allies of her own. She would begin with Latula, she decided, but later. She didn’t expect to win anyway, but only time would tell. If anything, watching the drama unfold would certainly be how she spent her days in the Games. Nevertheless, she would use her wits to her advantage.

 

After the cheering subsided when the heiresses mounted the stage, the Empress made one last quick speech before bidding her kingdom farewell and ascending back into the ship with the rest of the adults to spectate and coordinate events in the game from above, as she did every sweep. Terezi knew that the Empress was most likely hoping her heiresses would die one way or another, so as to extend her reign just the slightest bit longer. Such were the ways of the highbloods.

 

The Tributes were huddled off of the stage and down the aisle again, where a small pod awaited them. They would be transported in this pod to their training facilities, in an unknown location somewhere on Alternia. From there... For once, Terezi decided not to think about the future. As she boarded the pod, prodded along by the drones, she decided to relish in every moment. For, she knew, every moment brought her closer and closer to her probable demise.


End file.
